Deception
by RoswellSmokingWoman
Summary: Martha (OC), is sent on a mission to find out more information on the Syndicate. Her mission-to seduce the CSM and take advantage of her new found standing. But little did she know, that she would find herself genuinely attracted to a man that was over a decade older than her. Could she continue to ignore her feelings, or would she abandon the mission?
1. Chapter 1

Deception

July 5th, 1992

I had been frustrated, to say in the least. It was midnight and I hadn't been able to fall asleep, so I decided to go to the bar a couple blocks away from my apartment. It was a dingy little thing, with old seats and the smell of cigarettes permanently saturated into its walls. The wallpaper was peeling; the chairs were flattened out from years of patrons sitting on them. My thoughts kept me awake, so I thought maybe some alcohol would quiet them down. And then, I could go to sleep only to wake up to another day of work, another day of ceaseless conflict. But, what I didn't except to find was a woman, sitting three chairs away from me sipping what looked like a gin and tonic.

She had to be in her late thirties, but was still attractive in a way that would make any man of any age feel a little weak in the knees. She had black hair cascading down her shoulders like little ripples on the ocean's surface. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the contrast of her rosy lips against her pale skin, like rose petals falling onto the first snow. And her eyes, like a vast green forest, were absolutely entrancing. Though, I told myself, that she was not mine to have. I could only imagine, only dream of her later tonight—and maybe that would be what would finally lure me to sleep, those thoughts of her.

But then, to my surprise, I noticed her glance over to me. There was a smile playing on her lips as she took the next sip of her drink. She took several more peaks at me, and I wondered if I was imagining this. She'd look to me, realize I had noticed, and then look back into her drink, sometimes biting her lips shyly. The bartender, who had taken over ten minutes to attend to me, took my attention away from her.

"What'll you have?" he asked, tiredness gripping his voice.

"Scotch, on the rocks," I replied dryly, finally looking over to her again only to see that this time, she had not evaded her glance as quickly as before.

I sipped at my drink, slowly. There was a small part of me that wished I was a younger man, though I knew that even if I was younger, I shouldn't have involved myself with anything so petty. And yet, here I was, imagining the things I could do to this woman.

She got up from her stool and I sighed a sigh of relief, hoping that once she left the bar, I would finally be able to drink my scotch in peace. But, instead of leaving, she came over to the stool directly next to me and sat down. "Hello," she said in her husky voice, smiling a little at me.

I simply nodded, taking a sip from my drink.

"My name is Martha," she said, looking at me hopefully.

"Charles," I replied, now unable to keep myself from attending to her completely. "You know, not all young women take glances older men."

"Well, many young women don't know what they're missing," she replied, her fingers reaching into my coat's breast pocket and taking out the box of cigarettes I kept in it.

I took the box from her and pulled out a cigarette myself, mutter as I lit it, "So what brings you here tonight?"

"What brings every else to a bar this late at night, you know."

"And what would that be?"

"Demons." She took the cigarette from my lips and took a puff from it, never breaking eye contact with me. "That's why you're here this late, isn't it?"

"You could call it that, I suppose." I took another cigarette, slightly nervous because of her forwardness. "So, what are your demons?" I asked nonchalantly, thinking she wouldn't answer.

"A lack of love. Scarcity of human contact. Loneliness." She pushed the cigarette into the ashtray. Placing her hand on top of mine, she whispered, "I know you've been looking at me the way I've been looking at you. Thinking what I've been thinking. Wanting…"

"There are a dozen other men in this bar, all of them younger and more attractive than me. I'm halfway sure that this is some trick you're playing on me to have a laugh. Maybe you should go home and play pranks with your little friends."

"Attractiveness is so objective. Besides, who are you to tell me what I want to do right now, hmm?" She was frustrated, and I liked that. The furrow in her eyebrows, the irate tone in her voice, made her all the sexier to me.

"Maybe you should thinking of me as an old wise man, giving you honest advice."

"And not a scared old man, afraid that this moment is too good to be real?"

He looked away from her, but let her hand stay on top of his a little longer. "I've lived life long enough to know what I'm saying here. Besides, you wouldn't want to get involved with me."

"You know, if you change your mind, I'll be on the other side of the bar."

I laughed, pulling my hand away from hers. "I think I'm just going to finish my drink and head home." I told myself, it was better this way. It was best to not entangle myself in affairs. I had other things to think of—the fate of the world, the preservation of the U.S.'s standing as a world power.

She stood, disappointed, her eyes filled with the pain of rejection. She took her drink with her, to the other side of the bar. She found someone else to talk to. A younger man this time, average height and relatively fit. She laughed half-heartedly at his jokes, pretended to be spell-bound by his half-drunk musings.

I didn't leave after finishing my first drink. In fact, I had ordered another. I was angry with myself for letting her walk away, for rejecting her. Most of all, I was peeved by the fact that there was an undeserving man pitifully trying to seduce her while she acted as if she was utterly enticed by him. She laughed, her laugh melodic and sweet, like a melody composed for the ears of gods. A smile spread across her face that could have lit this entire room. It was all wasted upon his other man who was looking for a one night stand with just any girl who was drunk enough to let herself be used. Jealousy bit at my veins as I watched Martha.

I left my half-empty drink and two ten dollar bills on the bar, and I walked over to her. I grabbed her arm, taking a deep breath as I watched her turn to face me. "Changed your mind?" she asked, amused.

"We're leaving," I said, staring down the younger man next to her.

"Like she'd want to fuck some old piece of shit like you!" he shouted, slurring his words.

She walked out of the bar with me without question, the door closing behind us. "I don't want just a fuck," I said. "I'm not that kind of man."

"Then what do you want?" she asked curiously.

"I'm going to take you to my apartment, and then we'll go from there. If, that's alright."

We continued walking, wordlessly, to my apartment. The climb was six flights of stairs, though she didn't seem to mind. Her hand brushed up against my arm and I could feel goosebumps rise up onto my skin, a testament to the effect she had on me. I unlocked my door, willing my hands to not shake.

She looked inside the apartment, scanning it carefully. It was small, a bit messy, and in no way spectacular. Papers were strewn on the floor by the desk, and an old arm chair sat in front of a small T.V. that I had forgotten to turn off. "You have a lovely home," she laughed.

"People should really skip the formalities," I mused before closing the door behind us. "Do you want anything?"

"Water would be great, thanks." She brushed her hair with her fingers as she continued to look over my apartment.

I was unsure of what I was doing, or if it was a wise thing to do in any case. I hadn't come across opportunities like these much anymore. I was old and alone, so used to fighting battles for anyone but myself that I had forgotten about my own needs. And yet, here was a chance, wide open, starring doe-eyed at me as I fumbled my way through pouring her a glass of water.

* * *

Initially, when I had received the order to seduce this man, I hadn't wanted to. Part of the reason was because I was still young—I hadn't been part of the organization for very long. I thought they saw me as expendable, and I wasn't quite ready to risk my life over a mission that involved opening my legs for a few pieces of information. But also, I didn't want to do this because I had actually found him attractive. I had been surprised, at first, when I felt my fingers tingle when I placed my hand over his. I had been even more surprised that looking at him alone made me nervous. Though, I knew that all of these things could only serve to harm me.

I took a sip of my water, letting an awkward silence consume us as we struggled to find words to say. I slid my hand down the back of his head and over his neck, carefully watching him as he shuddered in pleasure. "Do you have somewhere else we could maybe sit, talk for a little while," I asked. He wasn't an idiot, I knew. I was shocked that he hadn't seen through this rouse, though I could understand why such a young woman coming on to him like this could seem like a dream to him.

"Just to talk," he said, leading me into his bedroom.

He turned on the lights, revealing a fittingly small room that was almost comically bland. The bed was just big enough for two people. I kicked off my shoes and sat down, waiting for him to join me. "I don't bite, you know."

"Oh, you don't?" he spoke, feigning disappointment. I liked the way the lines around his eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

He took his coat off and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed before he sat down. He was still weighing his options, I knew. I could tell that he didn't want to risk his clarity by involving himself with a woman. Maybe, he feared that after tonight, he would want more. But, what did I know? Maybe, I was projecting my own fears into him.

"What was the happiest moment of your life?" I placed my hand on his chest, tapping my fingers against it lightly. He smelled of smoke and cologne; together, they were an aphrodisiac to me. I felt my loins stirring with heat.

"Oh, I don't remember, at this point." His fingers played with the ends of my hair, twirling and twisting it, lavishing in the softness of it.

"Come on. You won't sleep with me, or kiss me. You can't even make decent conversation now?"

"The happiest moment of my life was when my son was born," he finally said, staring off into the distance.

"You're married?" I asked, panicking slightly. Our profile on him had said he had been single, no children.

"Divorced now, actually. Haven't seen my family in a very long time. That's what happens, I suppose—when you put work over life." He looked at my chest, marveling at my cleavage. I had worn a simple black dress the revealed my best features in just the right way. "And what about you?"

* * *

"And what about you?" he had asked, lost in the sadness of his memories that he would have rather forgotten.

"I remember, one year, when I had just finished the eighth grade, my father had bought me a book. A Farewell to Arms, by Hemmingway. I had asked him over and over to buy me a copy. We never had much money, so I didn't get many books. Birthday presents were even rarer than books. But this one year, he got me that book. I'd never been happier. I hugged him and kissed his cheeks. I still have that book, somewhere in a box, waiting to be placed on a bookshelf."

He was entranced by her, holding onto her every word as she spoke. "What was your favorite part of about the book?"

"The ending—when Catherine dies and Frederic walks home alone in the rain. It was so fitting, so perfect. For such a masochistic character, an almost poetic ending."

"Huh," he said, truly thinking about the novel. He had read it time and time again, and seeing the ending this way made him oddly satisfied. He had always thought it was out of place, until she had opened his eyes. "Martha," he whispered.

"Yeah?" She unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, licking her lips. "What's your favorite book?"

"The Postman Always Rings Twice." He grabbed her hand and looked at her fingers carefully. She was something else, he knew. Intelligent, witty, entrancing. "I particularly like the moment where Frank and Cora first kiss." His lips neared hers, capturing them wildly.

His lips were soft, warm. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol was on them. She closed her eyes, deepening the kiss. His hands slid over her lower back, and he pushed her body closer to his. She was extraordinary, the way she absolutely melted at his touch. She moaned out as he bit down on her lip, savoring the pleasure filled pain.

Closed flew off of their bodies and landed onto the carpeted floor, leaving them naked against each other. He looked at her porcelain body, curvy in the right places with breasts that any man would yearn to touch. He rolled her onto her back and placed his mouth over a rosebud nipple, sucking it, nibbling it. She mewled out, arching her back in ecstasy as his mouth covered her body with kisses and bites. He didn't fuck her like a wild animal. He put passion into it, letting the lust build up between them until it consumed them like a midsummer wildfire consumes a forest.

She placed his hands onto the side of his arms, squirming beneath him. "Please, I need you inside of me," she husked, her voice brimming with need.

He captured her lips in a passionate kiss as he entered her depths, feeling warmth explode between them. He rocked into her slowly at first, testing the waters. He found the spot he was looking for, watching her as her eyes widened in surprise. He thrusted in harder, groaning at how perfectly tight she was. "Fuck," he groaned into her ear, thrusting into her faster.

"Right there!" she screamed out, consumed by arousal. "Fuck, baby. Harder, please." She arched her back as she felt herself on the brink of orgasm, her eyes watering at the beauty of the feeling.

A sense of euphoria swept over him as he watched her write beneath him, beg him to let her cum. He silenced her cries with his lips, thrusting into her faster as she moaned against his lips. "Come on, just a little longer," he pleaded. He took her hands and held onto them above her head, holding her steadily as he began to completely lose himself to the orgasm that rocked him. She came with him, closing her eyes, tears falling onto her cheeks.

"Charles," she moaned out breathily, falling limp underneath him and panting.

She turned onto her side and placed her head on top of his chest. He stroked her hair as she lay next to him, reveling in the warmth between them. She smiled, realizing that she enjoyed the feeling of being next to him. She found the smell of cigarettes on his skin an odd comfort. She was terrified, then, that if she let this go on to long, that she could develop feelings for a man that she wasn't allowed to fall for. There were others out there, but none that could fuck her so sweetly. What was it about him that made him seem so attractive to her?

"That was maybe the best sex of my life," she uttered, blowing cool breath against his skin.

He chuckled in disbelief, "I'm guessing you haven't had much sex in your life then." His hand moved down to her arm, and he rubbed circles into it gently. "Why me?" he asked, genuinely.

"Because I saw you and I liked you, Charles. Why does there have to be much else to it?"

He stood up from the bed, walking over to the light switch stark naked. "You must be fifteen years younger than me," he began. "There has to be more. It's the way things work." He turned off the lights.

"You'd be surprised to find how many younger women would want to be with you, then."

He lay back down and took her into his arms, pulling her back to his abdomen. "This must be a dream, then." He kissed her shoulder sleepily. "And if it is, I hope I don't wake up." Because he knew, after he woke up, she would be gone and he would return to work, just working, just living a maddeningly stagnant life. Despite all of the excitement in it, after years of the excitement in it, he feared there was nothing more to his life than the mission, than the goal. And yet, here was a young woman in his arms, a new spark in his dark life. He closed his eyes, falling asleep with her in his arms.

* * *

A/N: I hope you like this first chapter! More to come soon. Keep an eye out for the next chapter, and leave a review on this one if you can.


	2. Chapter 2

July 5th, 1992

I walked down the steps of the apartment building, carefully watching my step. It was early in the morning, and I was still tired. I left him to continue sleeping, leaving a note with my phone number on it. This was only the beginning. I needed to gain his trust, to turn him into putty in my hands. I had no other choice, because if I failed, I didn't know whether or not I would make it out of this mission alive.

There were few people on the streets this early in the morning, and I was among them. I turned left at the intersection, walking faster now, to the bus stop. I had woken up a bit later than I should have, and writing the note took longer than it should have. I could remember, waking up to see him asleep, peacefully laying on the bed.

 _Awake, I turned around to face him. I exhaled shakily as I took in the sight of him. His face, with wrinkles etched into them as a map of his life, were strangely beautiful. His dark gray hair was disheveled against the pillow. My hand stroked his hair lightly. But, I took my hand back as if something had bitten me—I couldn't wake him up. Though, I wanted to hear his voice, I wanted to listen to whatever sarcastic comment he could conjure upon seeing me still in bed with him. Something about his age, my age, something about the insanity of this all; but, I couldn't indulge myself like that._

 _I stood from the bed and put on my clothes, trying not to think too much of last night. But, it was to no avail. My eyes open, I could still see his body over mine, sweat glistening on his chest as he rocked in and out of me, his eyes meeting mine as we were brought to the brink. I shuddered, putting my dress on. "Damnit," I whispered, realizing that I was in a dangerous position._

 _I left the room in search of a pen and paper, only to find myself at his small desk where a typewriter lay. He seemed to be writing something, but I didn't pay much attention to it. I sat down at the desk and took the pen into my hand. My handwriting was sloppy; my hand was shaking too much. I threw the first page into the trash bin next to the desk and took another piece of paper, trying again. "This doesn't have to be so difficult," I told myself._

 _"Sorry—I had to leave for work. 857-555-9293, Call me!" I wrote, each stroke of the pen harder than the last. I placed the note on the pillow where I had slept. I lingered there for a moment, listening to him snore quietly. Why did it have to be me, out of all the other women that could have completed the same mission? Why me, when I was so new to the organization, with a heart that was still too soft?_

I boarded the bus, taking a seat in the front and looking out the window. It was several miles to the Pentagon, giving me enough time to compartmentalize and push the thoughts associated with last night aside.

* * *

Her note wasn't what I was expecting to find when I woke up, but I had expected to wake up to an empty bed. The note itself served as proof that last night wasn't some half-drunken dream, something my mind concocted just to give me a push to keep on going. I stuck the note in my coat pocket before I had left for work, thinking that I would call her from a payphone later. Yet, I wondered why a woman around fifteen years my junior would want anything to do with me. I was fifty three, and I looked about sixty some years old because of the cigarettes. I was a difficult man who had never had luck in love. But here she was, giving me here number. Was it fake?—I wondered.

I couldn't spend the day thinking about her; I had a meeting to attend to. She was not about to become top priority to me. Maybe, after a few weeks, this would all dissolve. After another liaison or two, maybe even three, she would realize her mistake and go off and find someone else. This was a fleeting lust, but I would take it while I could. After all, God knows when the next chance would come for me, if one ever would.

I set my briefcase on the large, oval table. Staring at the five men before me, I began to speak, glancing at the table from time to time. "Good morning gentlemen, I hope you're all well rested, because we've got a lot to do today."

"Before we get into anything, we need to talk about Mulder." Kingsman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.

"I've told you all before, I will handle him," I spat out, angered by Kingsman's brazenness.

"I know. But I fear that through the X-Files, he will find out more than he should ever know."

"And who are you to judge what Mulder should and should not know? I have my ways of keeping him in check. Now, don't make me have to find ways to keep you in check too." I sat down, tapping my fingers against my left knee under the table.

"Excuse me, sir, but how exactly are you keeping him in check?" Hoffman asked, taking a cigarette out of his breast pocket. "Up until now, we've only seen him investigate X-Files matters with unprecedented freedom."

"I've assigned him a partner through Blevins. Someone skeptical enough to impede his work, to hold him back so that he is always three steps behind us. You see, Mulder can be a great asset to us, if we utilize this situation correctly. Now, I would appreciate it if you would stop questioning the way I handle Mulder and focus on more important matters." I removed a cigarette from the breast pocket of my black suit jacket and played with it in my hands.

"I understand, but we have reason to believe that Scully may not be as effective as you think," Kingsman countered, nearly fuming.

"Kingsman, tell me. How would like an all-expenses paid trip to Hawaii—first class seats for your family and all?" I put a cigarette in between my lips and lit it carefully, staring at Kingsman. "You know, of course the plane will be checked over and everything. Clean inspection. But, that doesn't mean that they wouldn't happen to…" I took the cigarette out of my mouth and waved it, letting the ashes drop to the floor. "Miss something.

"I understand, sir. Thank you for clearing that up for me."

"I'm glad." I smiled threateningly. "Now, what else is there?"

"The situation in the Balkans has been escalating steadily. Genocide is inevitable, and the U.S. should intervene before it gets much worse," Kolinsky spoke, pulling a file out of his brief case. "Intel has reported that the vote for Bosnian independence will cause conflict. War is going to break out soon. We need to be prepared." Kolinsky walked to me, handing me the file.

I opened it, only to find pictures of a secret meeting, captioned "Midnight in Moscow". I flipped through the pages quickly, skimming through details of unwanted Russian activities. America wouldn't stand for this, not so soon after the resignation of Gorbachev.

I sighed, looking at the clock above my head. "America couldn't care less."

"But sir—"

"When America cares, we'll do something. But, for now, the Yugoslav conflict will be treated as an isolated dispute until further notice. It'll distract the world, giving us a guise for American plans that would otherwise be widely protested." I stuck the cigarette back in my pocket, saving it for later.

"And the Rwandan Civil War?" Kingsman asked.

"Will be a U.N. matter." The meeting continued on like this, until the hours passed and all was cleared up until the next meeting. But, left were the file he had been given and the fear of another Russian conflict.

* * *

I had gained an important secretarial position in the Pentagon—the secretary to the Director of the Pentagon. My forged documents had provided me with the credentials to blow the other candidates out of the water. Securing the position, I now had ample opportunity and access to a database that the Russians knew would be risky to hack in to. When I obtained a higher level access card, through one way or another, I would find what the Russians wanted. But, for now, I had to play the part of an innocent little secretary, keen on helping America in any way that she could.

I was home, alone, waiting for them to call me. I plugged the phone into a device that made it impossible to trace calls to and from the apartment I lived in. I had little to worry about, other than the events of last night. Sitting with a glass of wine on a charcoal ottoman, I was completely unnerved. Like a petty schoolgirl, I longed to see him again. I took a sip of the wine, trying to calm my nerves, but all it did was spread warmth through my body, a lustful elixir.

The phone rang, and I jumped out of the sofa, placing the wine on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I picked up the phone, my hand trembling. "Hello?"

"Vy vstupili v kontakt s kuritel'noy chelovekom ?" _Have you made contact with the smoking man?_ A female voice said on the other end of the phone.

"Da, vse idet po planu." _Yes, all is going according to plan._ I replied.

"Kogda vy uvidite yego dal'she?" _When will you see him next?_ There was a sense of urgency filled in her voice.

"Ya zhdu yego sleduyushchego vyzova . Skoro , ya schitayu ." _I am waiting for his call. Soon, I believe._ I took a deep breath, audaciously asking my next question. "Pochemu ty tak bespokoites' ?" _Why do you sound so worried?_ I held my breath for her answer.

"Tam, vozmozhno, imelo mesto narusheniye v nashey sisteme. On mozhet znat' bol'she , chem vy dumayete . Bud'te ostorozhny , Mariya ." _There may have been a breach in our system. He may know more than you think. Be careful, Maria._

 _"_ Spasibo. Dobroy nochi." _Thank you, good night._ I hung up the phone, and put my back against the wall. How could it be that so soon in my mission I was already dealing with more than I was prepared to deal with? Had this been anticipated, I would have had back up, I would have had protection. But now, I was treating dangerous waters with a man who would not hesitate to kill me. But, it was my job, and like a good soldier, I would complete my mission at all costs.

I flinched at the sound of the phone ringing again. I hesitated for a moment and then picked up the phone. "Hello?" I asked, hoping it wasn't the organization calling me again.

"I tried calling you earlier today. You didn't answer." It was him. He laughed at the end of the line, his voice breathy and his laugh nervous.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, impatiently bursting out of their cocoons. You bit your lip, wondering what to say. "I was at work. I guess you wouldn't have known that. We hadn't talked much about our personal lives last night, considering…"

"I was thinking, if you still don't regret last night, that we could go out to dinner soon."

"Does tomorrow night at seven work?" You held your breath, waiting for his answer.

There was a pause. "That should be fine. Wear something nice, but not over the top."

"Alright, I'll try my best. See you soon."

"Martha?" He asked, a flicker of hope in his voice.

"Yes?"

"What are we doing here, exactly?"

I curled my toes, thinking of the right answer, but quickly coming to the conclusion that there was no _right_ answer. If anything, there was a complicated truth that could never be told. "We're doing what we feel is right," I finally said, hoping that the answer was night.

"Okay. Good night."

"Good night, Charles." I hung up the phone and looked over the room. I walked along the edges of the room, analyzing ever crack. My hands slid over the walls, searching for odd holes. On my hands and knees, I meticulously searched the carpet. Finally, I lay on the floor of the tiny living room and looked over the ceiling, keeping an eye out for the oddest bit of light. I repeated this process for each room, looking for cameras or recorders. Every night, I would search my room. There was no room for error now.

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter! Feel free to leave a review if you have a minute. All comments will be appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

July 6th, 1992

I were a tight black dress, something simple yet beautiful in its own way. I checked myself over in the mirror, obsessing over whether the dress flattered my figure, if he would like it, if it would make him go weak in the knees… Were these appropriate thoughts for me to think? I wasn't sure, and I didn't quite care. In a way, it was your job to make him fall head over heels for you, to make him want to die for you because he loved you so much.

I rode the bus to his apartment building, fiddling with the hem of my dress as a stared out of the window. Maryland was a beautiful state, but it was such a shame that it housed the most horrible government in the world, at least, that's what I was raised and trained to believe. There was an odd sort of satisfaction within me from just thinking about what ruining the Syndicate's plans would mean for the world. The Syndicate believed they were completely unnoticed by others, but the Soviets had found out about them in the late 1980's. Gorbachev was too weak and too disinterested to do anything about it, and when he finally resigned, a new organization had formed. This underground network of communists would continue the work of the old Soviet state. Exposing the Syndicate was at the top of the agenda.

I stepped off of the bus and walked several blocks to his apartment, keeping my head down as I walked. As I neared the building, my heart beat harder in my chest, pounding mercilessly against my thin ribs. Entering the apartment building, I took a deep breath and looked up above me at the sets of stares winding up the twelve story building. I gripped the railing tightly as I walked up the stairs, counting each step. I nearly tripped at the bottom step of the fifth level. Two more levels up, I was at his door, fifteen minutes late, my hand frozen in front of me. I found myself unable to knock, insecurities flooding my mind.

And then, forcing myself with what little courage I could muster, I knocked on the door lightly, once, twice. I held my breath. After a few minutes of waiting, I was ready to walk away and abandon this date. But just as I turned around, the door had opened. I looked over my shoulder to see him, standing in a cream colored button down shirt with a black tie and black trousers.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up," he said, smiling awkwardly.

"The bus took a little longer than I thought it would," I told him.

He looked me up and down and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Did he like what he saw, I wondered. "We should get going, right?"

He nodded, leading me to the stairs. My hand tentatively reached for his, though I backed away in the last second. I would let him make the next move; I would drive him insane until he couldn't hold it in anymore.

* * *

The restaurant was small and dimly lit with curtain covered windows. They sat across each other at a small table, their feet touching. They ordered pasta dishes and the dishes had come out piping hot but smelling delicious. She barely touched her food, instead looking at him as he ate silently. She sipped at her glass of red wine slowly. "Your food is getting cold," he said finally.

"Not as cold as the conversation," she replied.

He smiled as he took another bite and she laughed, finally relenting and digging into her plate of food. They ate, making small talk, talking about things they had read and the few movies they had seen. Finally their plates empty, they could fully focus on the wine and conversation.

"You know, when I woke up this morning, I was half scared to death about tonight," she confessed to him sheepishly.

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, looking into her eyes the entire time. "Why exactly is that?"

"The way we met, how quickly things had gotten heated. I didn't know what tonight would be like. I'm glad it turned out this way, though."

"That's good, at least." He took in a long draw from his cigarette. Smoke rose from his lips as he spoke, leaning in towards her. "So, have you lived here your whole life?" he asked quietly.

"I moved to the states when I was a young girl, too young to remember what life was like back in England." With her forefinger, she rubbed circles into her thumb.

"Oh. Did you ever go back to England, for a visit?"

"Once, after college with a few of my friends. We stayed in a rundown inn in outskirts of London. It was a dingy little place, only half the lights worked and the TV was only static. But, it didn't matter. We came to our rooms too drunk to do anything but pass out on the beds, anyway. You know, the best part of the trip, if I remember correctly, was my friend Donna coming into our room completely pissed with a half-naked guy. They were just getting into things when they landed onto my bed—on top of me while I was sleeping. It was an interesting experience, to say in the least."

He laughed at the story, but truth be told, he hadn't listened to half of it. Instead, he had examined her carefully, watching the ways her eyes crinkled when she spoke, the way her cheeks would rise when she smiled, how her nose wrinkled up when she giggled. She was stunning, and he wondered how she could have found him attractive in the first place. Surely, someone as beautiful as she could find someone else, someone much younger.

"I grew up in the Midwest," he finally said, sliding his foot up her leg, taking pleasure in the sight of her gasping in surprise. "I grew up living in a lot of different homes, never making too many friends."

"Why is that? You seem like such a nice person." Her hand moved on top of his and she leaned in towards him, whispering, "I certainly like you."

"I was an orphan. I lived with different foster families until I was old enough to go out on my own. It wasn't a happy childhood, I suppose, but I think it wasn't a terrible one either. I had plenty of time to learn and read, play with the few friends I had when I stayed somewhere long enough."

"What did you like to play when you were younger," I asked, genuinely curious.

"Soldiers and spies. I'd go out into the forest with a friend or two and we would pretend that we were fighting some war. Always something different, against someone else. We had stick guns and rock knives. It was a simpler time back then. Everyone was free to roam the world; people weren't as afraid of the outside world as they are now. We'd spend hours, looking for escaped prisoners that we'd never find, exploring the forests as if they were entire countries."

She was entranced by him, her ears holding on to his every word. "That sounds wonderful," she whispered.

"Can I take you home tonight?" he asked her, staring into her eyes, his thumb stroking the palm of her hands.

She nodded, letting him take her from the table, holding her hand. He plopped down a fifty dollar bill on the table. They walked down the streets, having parked the car a couple of blocks down from the restaurant. His hand rested on the small of her back, and they spoke softly in the night as the walked.

"You look beautiful tonight," he told her, watching her as she walked, the moonlight reflecting on her pale skin. She looked illuminated by the night, an ethereal beauty which he wanted all for himself. He wanted his lips to capture every inch of her, and he would savor every sound she made.

She found herself staring at him, after walking for a while. Unable to stop, she let herself become entranced by him, her hand sliding over his arm, her nails brushing over it delicately. He shivered, looking straight ahead, trying not to make a spectacle of them. "Baby, I want you so bad," she told him.

At the parking lot, he slammed her back against the car, his hips grinding against hers. With labored breaths, he pinned her against the car, his nose up against hers as he made her wait. She stood still, holding her breath, closing her eyes, waiting for his lips which never fell onto hers. His hands wrapped around her waist, and he whispered to her, "Don't you think this is a little risqué?"

"Do you care at all?" she asked daringly.

"Not one bit." His lips claimed hers hungrily, his tongue intertwining with hers in a fiery dance. He put the key in the car door, pressing against her even harder. His lips moved from her lips to her neck. Kissing her wildly, he sucked on her neck, leaving bruises that would make her remember all the things he did to her tonight in the morning.

She tugged on his tie, bringing him even closer, as she dipped her head back in pleasure. On hand slid under the hem of her dress and he slid a finger over her thigh. She moaned out, but he silenced her with a harsh kiss on the lips. "You don't want the entire town knowing you're a needy little bitch," he muttered.

"Or maybe I want them all to know how good you make me feel." His hand slid under her panties and she flinched at the sudden contact, his cold fingers sending a shockwave through her core.

"Get in the back," he ordered huskily, opening the back door of his car.

She sat down quickly, never breaking eye contact with him. "Charles," she whispered, spreading her legs as she slid back. He entered the car, closing the door behind him. He pulled her toward him, her legs on either side of him.

"I would tear this dress off of you," he began, nibbling her collar bone, "But I don't want you bare for the entire world to see after this." He tore off her underwear instead, throwing it to the front of the car. He looked at her glistening pussy, licking his lips. A finger slid over her folds, and he smiled. Licking his finger, he said, "All this, for me?"

"Everything," she replied, her voice breathy from the arousal welling within her. At training, she was told to imagine anything, as long as it made her look aroused. But, with him, she didn't have to imagine a single thing. His every action, his every word, made her like putty, moldable in his hands, as long as he had her.

He took her thighs and tugged her up toward him, bringing her wet pussy to his mouth as she gasped in shock. He placed his tongue onto her opening; rubbing circles into it slowly as she listened to her mewl and felt her squirm. She moaned out his name as he darted his tongue in and out of her, his hands holding her up by her ass.

"I want you inside of me," she told him, only for his tongue to move to her clit. She cried out in pleasure, tears welling in the corners of her eyes from the intensity of the fire burning in her core, a smoldering mass that began to consume her whole.

His hard cock strained against his pants, but he ignored the feeling as he brought her to the edge and back, savoring his control over her orgasm. She begged him for release, but he refused her. The tingle of an orgasm just began to spread over her as she began to scream his name when his mouth parted from her pussy and he placed her warm, shaking body onto the back seat and watched her as she laid there, a helpless, horny mess.

She lunged at him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and her legs around his waist. She rocked her hips against him, their clothing separating them. "You're not going to leave me like this," she hissed, staring him in the eyes.

He moved to kiss her, but she pushed him back. "That's not how this is going to work, baby," he told her, pulling her hips toward him. She unbuttoned his pants, pulling his hard cock out of them. Her hand gripped it as she kissed his ear, whispering, "I'm the one with your balls in my hands." She began to rub his cock as he groaned out. Grabbing her face with his hands, he pulled her lips to his mouth and he bit down on her lips, drawing blood.

She moaned out in pleasure, her nails digging into the back of his neck, splitting the skin. She wanted to scar him, to leave marks on him that would make him remember her long after she would leave. Climbing on to him, she let herself kiss him sweetly now, relieving them of the pleasurable pain they felt, blood dripping from the back of his neck and from her lips.

She rocked against him slowly, pushing him against the window. "You make me feel so good, baby," she rasped, "Like no one before." Her tongue slid over neck, leaving a trail of glistening saliva. He grunted out, closing his eyes as she began to rock against him harder. A buzzing sound filled his ears as an orgasm overcame him, and she moaned out in ecstasy as she came, a white, bright light filling flashing before her eyes.

Panting, they lay in the back seat of the car. He held her in his arms, stroking her hair with his right hand. He looked out of the window of his car and watched the dark, empty parking lot in the night. She shifted against him, whispering his name into his chest.

"Marta?" he asked her, but she was already asleep against him. He looked at her, curled up against him, her face still coated with sweat.

He sighed, realizing, that, perhaps, he did not want just a fling with her. He looked at her, and he saw all that he never had, not with his wife and not even with Teena. He looked at her, and he saw that there was a glimmer of hope left for him in this world instead of a dark sea of monotonous work—work that he started, but was not sure if he would live to finish. His heart beat out, that start of something he feared and hoped for. He stroked her hair for the next hour, just watching her sleep while absentmindedly smoking a cigarette, before he would wake her. And even then, when she awoke, he lost himself in her eyes as she stared at him, wide eyed, her hand on his face.


End file.
